Catch You Every Time
by Hunting Demons
Summary: And somehow, in one split second, she knew that he meant it. It didn't matter how. She knew that he was going to catch her every single time. And she would do the same for him. (Rated T for stuff)


**I tried to capture Natasha's and Clint's personalities as best as I could! Hopefully it is satisfactory! **Post Avengers

They had at least an hour of free time. So what better way to kill it was to shoot some targets?

"Come on Clint." Natasha Romanoff nudged him slightly. "One shot. Whoever hits it dead center gets to slack off on the paperwork."

"And the loser?" Clint Barton asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "They get to do all of the paperwork of course. And now arrows. Just guns." She walked over to the gun rack and picked up a small pistol. She twirled it in her hand and looked at him. "Come on."

Clint smirked and grabbed a gun as well. He picked up, frowning slightly at the small weight. He turned around and there was Tasha. Her green eyes were glimmering with mischievousness. "Kiss for good luck?" she asked softly.

She didn't have to ask. He was leaning towards her before she could breath. He wrapped his free hand around her, pulling her in. It was just them in the empty target room. He almost forgot about Loki, and Manhattan, and of all the pain he had caused.

**BANG.**

Suddenly, Tasha pulled away from him. She was holding her stomach as if she was going to throw up. She withdrew her hand and it came away covered in blood. She stumbled and fell to the ground, her blood staining the hard tile beneath her. Clint looked down at his hand. The gun was still smoking. _No. NO. NO NO NO NO. _His mind screamed. This was not happening. He was okay. Loki was gone.

_"You underestimate me archer. Now. Finish the job." _His movements were jerky, like there were strings attached to his arms and legs. He was a puppet, and Loki was the master.

He raised his hand. And the gun went bang. Bang. Bang.

* * *

Maybe it was just her instincts, but Natasha knew that Clint was awake. Something was wrong. She opened her eyes slowly and looked over to the other bed. Clint was sitting up, his breaths heavy, labored. There was sweat on his brow and his arms, his hair in a mess. His gray blue eyes were wide and fearful. "Clint?" she asked softly. He didn't seem to hear her. She cleared her throat. "Clint? she asked again, slightly louder. He turned his head towards her and saw that his eyes were bloodshot.

"Sorry." he mumbled. "Did I wake you?" he asked.

"No." she replied. "Are... Are you okay?" she asked. No. Of course he wasn't okay. Of course not.

It took a while for him to answer her, as if he was contemplating whether to lie or tell the truth. "No. I'm not." He ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more messy. "What about you?" he asked her. She was bemused. Of course she was okay. Why wouldn't she be okay? she wondered.

"I'm fine, Clint." She sat on the edge of her bed. She saw his eyes flick towards her abdomen and then to her face. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing." he murmured. He moved towards the edge of the bed and stood up, walking past her. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek. It had become a habit of hers, ever since Clint had come back. He'd been having nightmares, but he refused to talk about them. He was always so occupied so much these days, ever since Manhattan. Fury had wanted her to keep an eye on him, in case he did something stupid.

She stood up too, as he walked to the bathroom. He didn't close the door, just leaned over the sink, his hands on the counter top. He stared at his reflection and didn't look at Natasha. "I'm fine." he said in a low voice.

"Clint... Do you... want to talk about it?" Natasha asked him.

"Not really." he told her, his voice harsh and cold. He splashing water onto his face. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek again. He turned around, drops of water dripping onto his shirt. She bit it harder.

"You've got to talk to someone about this. You wouldn't go to that psychiatrist Fury assigned to you. You've been avoiding people and-" She broke off. God, she sounded like a little whiny girl who had no one to play with. He'd been avoiding her.

"No psychiatrist is going to help me what I've gone through Nat." Clint answered.

"You don't know that. Maybe it could." she told him. "He's one of the best at S.H.I.E.L.D. I heard."

"But he can't help me. He wouldn't be able to get the nightmares I have out of my head. These thoughts, they aren't mine Tasha. I feel like I'm going to do something. Hurt someone. And it's you- was you." he said, looking into her eyes.

Natasha blinked. Her? Her. That's why. "You... wanted to hurt me. In your dreams."

"I **was **hurting you, Tasha." he whispered. "And I couldn't do shit about it. I killed you. And they shouldn't worry me, because they aren't real. But the scary thing is that I keep on thinking Loki is inside of me, he's still in my head. And he knows that you're my weakness. That hurting you gets to me. It breaks me." He had taken a step towards her, their faces inches from each other. There were drops of water hanging in his hair still, and Natasha could feel her heart racing. Could he hear it? Her heart beating against her chest in the silence?

He had said that she was her weakness. Her. Natasha Romanoff was Clint Barton's weakness.

The thing about being a spy at S.H.I.E.L.D was that you had to stop your emotions from getting in the way of the job. Once that happened, you couldn't focus. You thought about the people involved, the other side, and the people who weren't even in the mission itself. Natasha had sword to herself that she wouldn't let that happen to herself.

But she guessed it had already happened to her, without her knowing it. Her walls had fallen around her, and Clint was the reason. He was the reason that they had fallen. She still couldn't believe though. She was his weakness. Was he hers?

"Clint, you're-" She broke off and bit the inside of her cheek again. What was she nervous about? "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here." she told him. His hand found hers, and she didn't try to break away from him. He held onto her as if she was the only person left in the world. His lifeline. "You can't get rid of me that easily." she said with a small smirk. His lips lifted slightly, into a tiny smile.

And then he kissed her.

It was quick, swift, and short. As he pulled back, his blue gray eyes stared into hers. His eyes flicking side to side, as if searching for a way out. He was nervous. Natasha could hear both of their breaths in the silence. She could hear her heart pumping blood loudly in her ears, everything muffled. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him badly. So badly.

And she did.

She leaned forward and felt him move his hands to her waist. She raised her hands to cup his face and felt every scar, every line, on his face. She tangled her fingers into his hair and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Clint pulled her in tighter, as if he wanted to meld them together. To become one person, with all their faults and sins.

"Tasha." he murmured into her hair. "Tasha. Tasha, Tasha." He said it like a prayer, over and over again. He raised his hand and cupped the back of her neck, sliding it into her hair. "God Tasha. You drive me insane." he whispered.

"Like you don't do the same?" she asked him. He chuckled quietly, his breath hot on her skin.

"Do I? Do I drive you insane Tasha?" he asked her.

"I'm teetering on the edge of sanity." she answered him. "Hopefully I don't fall off."

"Don't worry." he told her. "I'll be there to catch you if you fall. Every time."

And somehow, in one split second, she knew that he meant it. It didn't matter how. She knew that he was going to catch her every single time. And she would do the same for him.


End file.
